


he kept wanting to give you what was already yours

by thronebreaker



Series: thirty prompts challenge [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 15:30:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3330899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thronebreaker/pseuds/thronebreaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas has told her to harden her heart, fold the pain inside it like the metal of a blade, and use it against Corypheus. In the very moment, Eurydice had wondered if he knew who he was talking to. A heart should not be a weapon. In this, she is the wiser. Hers is broken like a gashed fist, sparking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	he kept wanting to give you what was already yours

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted to [my tumblr.](http://bonnysims.tumblr.com/post/110686393301/he-kept-wanting-to-give-you-what-was-already-yours) ❤ For the prompt "Acceptance".

Eurydice does not feel freed. She never has. Not in the years travelling in the woods, not when her handcuffs snapped open, not on the first night in Skyhold, warm and safe under her new title. Not for a breath of her life has she ever felt free. She’s resigned to it, really; she had always made peace with her circumstances, as you do with a feral animal. Eyes lowered, pose submissive, accommodating, Eurydice had made her way through life without a scratch. No spell could change the fact that she only knew herself when surrounded.  
  
 _You are resourceful,_ the clan had taught her.  _You are capable,_  etched into the great doors at the Conclave. After Haven, amid the roar of snow, a breeze had pushed her hair back and whispered,  _you are brave._  As Solas removes the blood from her face and tells her  _ar lasa mala revas,_  the translation an afterthought, he gives her nothing. She almost shakes her head.  
  
Solas kisses her like she has the world’s answers hidden at the back of her throat. His mouth is hot, and sweetly familiar. Wind curls around the nape of her neck, lascivious. Amongst the dewy grass, beside waterfalls white and full as the moon, she wants to slide her arms around him and whisper _, we will do great things together, now._ Eurydice wants to hush the din of his fears, and teach him, as life taught her.  
  
He draws back before he speaks. The words still bruise her. 

 

—

 

Solas has told her to harden her heart, fold the pain inside it like the metal of a blade, and use it against Corypheus. In the very moment, Eurydice had wondered if he knew who he was talking to. A heart should not be a weapon. In this, she is the wiser. Hers is broken like a gashed fist, sparking.

She can see her life without him; she is still the Inquisitor. She hasn’t lost half of herself or anything so romantic, but what she’s been left with is a waste, without him to love it. Everything thins, pales, rings hollow. Then he is traitorous, and he is gone, and it is a dark, black truth her sight must adjust to.

Eurydice doesn’t want it to take longer to move on from him than it did to love him. The pain is withdrawing, she must close the wound. Will it take twice the time, she wonders, or half?

 

—

 

It takes one breath.

Inhaling to button her jacket, her eyes catch on her reflection, figure glinting across the mirror quick as light on water. When she stills, the sun turns the stray hairs around her head to gold. Her hair, bright and loose, is accompanied by several braids, as she’d managed to wake up early enough for it. The gold buttons up her front reflect the sunlight, and the matching stitching accentuates the strong curve of her shoulders, the ends hemmed to flare to her hips.

She’s grown too much around the middle to fit her jacket, she notices - and grins. For things to be so well that you eat enough to commission another uniform. That must be a good omen for a leader. Not a sign of gluttony, but of plenty.

The sudden gratitude brings a pink tinge to her cheeks. Everything is together, solid and golden. She is so distant from the girl with ringed eyes.  _You are beautiful,_  she thinks giddily, then balks. Not a thought in her own voice. A memory.

Oh, but what is a memory, an unapproachable mirage of a man, a dream, to keep this from her?

Solas had never taken her heart. He’d only turned it over in his hands like an indecipherable rune, and handed it back to her, ashamed, each time she spoke.

She is beautiful. Eurydice narrows her eyes, sees them glint in the sunlight. She could be free. Solas had stood before her like a mirror, showing her in clarity. He told her she was beautiful, strong-willed, deserving, and nothing in her had reared up to disagree. Before, she’d only seen her reflection dimly swirling atop ponds; how could she have known? She has always been what he said of her.


End file.
